


Twice Lost

by GoodyearTheShippyCat



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Aftermath, Cain is Dead, Character Death, Crying, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memories, Suicide, Tears, There is No Happy Ending for Him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-24 08:32:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16636484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodyearTheShippyCat/pseuds/GoodyearTheShippyCat
Summary: Abel processes the unexpected news of Cain’s death, years after the end of the Colteron War.





	Twice Lost

**Author's Note:**

> Hoo boy, definitely heed the warnings on this one, friends. It is not the silly fluff you’re used to from me. Definitely a lot darker, though nothing too graphic. Does include ruminating on different methods by which a person could commit suicide, though, so maybe skip it if you’re triggered by that sort of thing or aren’t in a good place.

So that was it. Cain was dead.

Never again to be paired with Abel. Never again to soar between the stars, in perfect unison. Never again to celebrate, or argue, or lie quietly catching their breath together after either of those.

The finality of the news seemed to slide right off of Ethan. It didn’t stick, didn’t hit where it hurt. He didn’t even know how to feel about it. He knew how he _should_ feel, or at least how other people would expect him to feel. But he just felt numb and detached from it.

He went home anyway, messaging Aidan that something had come up and he couldn’t attend the dinner party that him and Jules were throwing. Maybe he just needed time to process. It would be too weird to be surrounded by old colleagues right then. Especially if they hadn’t heard. Aidan’s cheery, oblivious reply a few moments later confirmed that.

 

_Oh! That’s too bad, Ethan. We’ll miss you tonight! Let’s go for coffee soon, instead!_

Sent 7:06 pm

 

The train ride home was just gone. He hadn’t even noticed the time pass, didn’t know what he thought about during it—if he thought at all. Walking the short distance to his building, it felt like his heart finally started beating again. He felt something bubble up in him, but not the crushing sorrow or indignant anger he had almost expected.

Something more like... regret? A disconnected, sort-of sadness. A dull ache. A sense of loss, but not nearly so sharp or complete as he felt like he _should_ be feeling, if only for what once was. His feet moved him ever forward, but his mind wasn’t on his route. His eyes weren’t seeing the other workers going home to their families at the end of the day, the shops closing up, the quiet side streets. They were seeing events long past.

He’d had much more all-encompassing feelings once upon a time. He remembered the deadly sting of betrayal. The crushing sense of misery when he realized that nothing was what he had thought or hoped between them. The pain that seemed like it would tear him apart, piece by piece, until there was nothing left. Then, as they made their escape, the confusing roiling of a million different feelings in his gut. The way he’d nearly fallen off the ladder of their ship when he saw that Cain had been injured by that gunshot, only managing to continue up thanks to the adrenaline surging through his system. Finally, the chilling horror of the realization that even with his newfound knowledge, he’d still felt the same about his fighter. The fact that the jump drive had worked a second time was inarguable proof of that.

He wondered where those feelings were now. Or if he’d grieved the loss of his lover, his _partner_ , so much already that this way of losing him didn’t matter as much. Didn’t feel as real as the first time he lost him, even if they’d both still been alive then.

 

Deimos had been the one to come and tell him, just a few quick words rasped out in a voice that barely carried over the din of the public concourse.

“He killed himself… Sorry...”

Then he was gone. Ethan had no idea how he found him or why he bothered, but appreciated it nonetheless. And appreciated even more that he didn’t stick around to see his reaction. He still didn’t know Deimos’ real name. Never would, now.

The small ex-fighter was lost to the milling crowds on their way home from work, everyone hurrying to the transit stops, going about their lives like nothing had changed. Like the world wasn’t just rocked by finding out about the death of a talented, infuriating, confusing, frustrating man. He supposed that theirs wasn’t; what was some colonist veteran to them? It was just _his_ world that felt like it had stopped on its axis for a moment, threatening to fling everything out into the void.

  
  
So now Ethan sat alone in his nice boutique condo, surrounded by plush furniture and the little accumulated knick-knacks of a life being lived with someone who wasn’t dead. Small souvenirs from travels, framed photos of the two of them… they were hard to look at. Instead he was staring out at the dimming sky, not bothering to turn the lights on even as the room was slowly, inexorably cast into darkness. Ramesh wouldn’t be home for another few hours. He’d had to take a late shift at the hospital that day, and wasn’t going to be able to make it to Jules and Aidan’s dinner party.

Which was excellent, Ethan thought, in retrospect. Because if he’d shown up to dinner and Ethan hadn’t—without even messaging—he’d have rushed back home immediately. Because he wasn’t sure if he could handle seeing the face of the man he loved right now. Not when he’d never see a certain other man’s face ever again. A face that might have been the one sitting next to him at dinner tonight, if things had turned out differently.  
  
It was a morbid line of thought to wonder how he did it. Ethan couldn’t stop himself, though. A gun seemed most likely; Cain had always been partial to quick, simple force when it came to solving his problems. And he’d have been more than capable of getting one if he’d wanted to.

His mind turned over other possibilities, somehow even more chilling than the idea of Cain blowing his brains out. What if it had been more accident than conscious decision? If his constant drinking and smoking had led to more harmful pastimes… maybe he’d just been alone and miserable and taken too much. What if someone had found him, and been able to get him medical attention? Would he still be alive? Would Deimos have even bothered to come and tell him about it if Cain hadn’t managed to finish the job?

Or worse yet, maybe he took whatever way out he could. Something more painful, or messy. He might have hanged himself, or slit his wrists. He’d never been one to shy away from a bit of blood. Ethan thought back to the number of times he’d had to change their sheets and send the ones stained rusty brown from Cain’s injuries down to the wash. Considering that, Cain might have just picked fights until he finally found one he couldn’t win.

Ethan wondered who might have found him. Whether he’d been living alone, or maybe with his sister. A spike of jealousy rose in his throat at the thought of Cain living with someone else. He tried not to dwell on it, but with nothing else to divert his attention, quickly failed. Was he seeing anyone? Were him and Deimos together? He dismissed that thought as soon as it crossed his mind. If they’d been together Deimos would have been way more upset. Why would he even have bothered to go all the way to Earth to tell Ethan? He was surprised enough by that as it was. He wished he’d stopped the other ex-fighter earlier. But he had been completely shell-shocked in the moment. Now he had so many questions and nobody to ask.  
  
Cain being dead just didn’t compute. He felt like his sense of time and his memories were all mixed up. Past events and present reality blending together about as well as oil and water; unable to connect one to the other.

 _It’s weird to think about someone you slept with being dead_ , Ethan thought.

It was a bizarre contrast, when in your mind’s eye you’ll always see them as vital, all-consuming, proof of the miracle of life itself. When you’ll always see their smirk, and the way it looked when you slid their pants down over perfect hipbones. The way they looked back at you, spread out and wanting on your shared bed. When you can practically taste the fresh smoke on their breath, and recall with crystal clarity how you felt a little nicotine high just from kissing them. When you can almost still feel the way it felt when they moved against you, the way your bodies fit together like they were meant to be there next to each other, always. That juxtaposition of the cold stillness of death with your memory of them in the throes of passion, living completely in the moment. The two of you becoming a single thrumming, gasping entity. Enjoying the very pinnacle of being, sharing in that perfect moment of knowledge that you are alive and together; feeling invincible, untouchable.

It doesn’t even make sense to think about someone like that being nonexistent. Being gone. The human mind isn’t built to reconcile those two realities. Ethan blamed the almost surreal quality of his mental state on this disconnect. Of course he couldn’t make sense of it. It wasn’t something that was meant to make sense.  
  
The hardest thing was the nagging feeling that maybe he could have done something. If he’d just known, maybe he could have reached out. Could have been there to support him. But Ethan knew that was just wishful thinking. Years had passed. They’d been living separate, completely disconnected lives on different planets. Ethan didn’t even know what he was doing these days. Whether he’d found steady work, whether he’d met someone...whether he’d ended up back in a detention facility... All he knew was that he’d done his best to help Alexei when everything was all over.

He’d wanted to hate him. Couldn’t have continued to see him then. Needed time and space to sort things out. Yet he still wanted to protect him. He’d used his father’s political clout to ensure that his fighter wouldn’t face any repercussions, and that his previous sentence would be ended and expunged from his record, just as the deal he’d initially struck with the Alliance promised. Cain had done his job, accomplished his mission, so why should Alexei have been forced to return to his punishment?

That had actually made everything easier for Ethan, in the end. His father finding out everything all at once, when he couldn’t even find a single fuck to give about any of it. Somehow that was so much simpler than the idea of coming out had been prior to his service.

He had his own life, and he was living it. He wasn’t going to follow in dad’s footsteps, and there was nothing wrong with that. He found work in the non-profit sector, and things were smoother with his family than they had been in years. When he finally met Ramesh, he was almost shocked by how easy, how natural it was to bring him for dinner one night at his parents’ home. How they immediately warmed to him; his kind selflessness, his soft-spoken but well-informed opinions, his obvious love for Ethan.

It wouldn’t have been like that if he’d brought home Alexei, Ethan knew. He couldn’t imagine his parents ever warming to the brash colonist, or vice versa. But it was still Alexei who had made that moment possible. And for that, among so many other things, Ethan was grateful to him. He might never have become the person he was now if it weren’t for the prickly Russian boy that fate dropped into his life. And he liked the person he’d become. Alexei was—and always would be—a part of that.

He wondered if he’d had anywhere near that kind of impact on the other man. If Alexei had lain awake some nights, looking out at the moons from the surface of a different world and thinking of him, of what they’d shared. If Ethan had left a permanent impression somewhere in his heart or mind.

He’d never know, now. He wished for even one more hour together. It was futile to wish such a thing, he knew that. But it didn’t matter that it was impossible. He wished for the chance to see him one last time, anyway. To say goodbye, or maybe to thank him. He wondered what he would even have said, given the chance. What would have been enough to encompass all his feelings, all the things he’d ever wanted to say to the other man but had held back.  
  
He was so lost in thought that he didn’t even hear the door slide open. Didn’t hear anyone coming in, dropping their things, taking off their shoes. Only registered that someone was there when he heard his name.

“Ethan?”

He didn’t turn around. Didn’t know how to respond.

“Babe? Are you okay?”

Now he could hear soft footsteps padding their way over, around the couch.

“Ethan, what’s wrong? Why aren’t you at the party?”

He felt the cushions sinking beside him, but still a small distance away. The weight of another person hovering tentatively just outside his space.

“Come here, love. It’s going to be okay.”

He looked up, into kind grey eyes. Eyes so different from the dark ones he’d been remembering. He opened his mouth slightly, but couldn’t say anything. Couldn’t find the words to communicate how very not okay things were in that moment.

“You don’t need to explain right now. It’s okay... Do you want me to hold you?”

Ethan was suddenly aware of the tears on his cheeks—fresh wet ones trailing over the salty, dried tracks of those which had apparently come before them. Aware of the sobs trapped beneath his ribs, practically vibrating with the tension of holding them there. Aware of the feeling of strong, warm arms slowly winding around him, pulling him into a broad, comforting chest.

Aware of the complete sense of love, belonging, _home_ , here in this moment. And that was what broke him, and set the first mournful wails free. Knowing that Alexei hadn’t had that, and now he never would.

 

END

**Author's Note:**

> More notes about this fic can be found [on my tumblr](https://goodyeartheshippycat.tumblr.com/post/180160005024/twice-lost-goodyeartheshippycat-starfighter), and as always, I welcome any comments here or messages there.


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